A Violent Love Letter to Hollywood

A movie star and his stunt double

“A Violent Love Letter to Hollywood”

A Review of Once Upon a Time in Hollywood by Nick Olszyk

MPAA Rating, R

USCCB Rating, O

Reel Rating, Three Reels             

            Disclaimer: Spoilers ahead.

           

            It is rare that a movie is promoted for its director rather than its stars. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is billed as the 9^th film by director Quentin Tarantino, and every film he makes is a mini-event in the cinematic world. Famously a video rental store clerk turned superstar filmmaker, Tarantino’s pictures frequently reference the masterpieces of the past, so a movie set in the glory days of the studio system was probably evitable. It has everything a former film student like me would love: frequent cameos, obscure references to lingo of the trade, shut-outs events of eras past, and simple joy in the artform. But, as evident by John Mulderig’s review for the USCCB, it is not everyone’s cup of tea.

            Rick Dalton (Leonardo DeCaprio) is veteran Western actor nearing the sunset of his career in 1969. While still making enough to live in mansion on Cielo Drive, he has been taking smaller and smaller parts for years and finds himself dreading the future. His only friend in the world is former stuntman Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), who is only too happy living in a trailer behind a drive-in theater and helping Rick with his daily tasks, especially acting as his impromptu chaffer after a sting of DUIs. While attempting to salvage his career, Rick’s life becomes intertwined with the new neighbors next door, director Roman Polaski and his wife Sharon Tate, as well as a strange group of hippies living in the desert where he used to film a television show. If you know anything about Hollywood, you can see where this is going.

 Setting aside anything about the story, plot, or moral implications of Tarantino’s fetish for obscene violence, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is a gorgeous film to experience. It some of the best atmospheric elements of any film in the last ten years. The cinematography, music, clothing, art design, and simple mannerisms of the performers drips with the culture of late 1960s Los Angeles when everyone smoked, neon lit up restaurants, miniskirts were hip, and you never know when a celebrity will walk by you in the streets. The film is over two and a half hours and takes its sweet time, lingering lovingly over finned cars and fringe jackets. Again, for a film geek like me, it was better than catnip, but anyone with a passaging nostalgia for the era will enjoy the craftmanship of filmmakers. My personal favorite homage is a fight scene between Cliff and Bruce Lee on the set of The Green Hornet. Peppered with humor, great dialogue, and silly action, it does not end the way one might think.

Yet beneath the glitz and glamour, there is trouble brewing. Perhaps no one summarized the times better when historian Paul Johnson called 1968 “America’s suicide attempt.” Embracing the sexual revolution and counter culture, many young people turned their backs on traditional values in a vain attempt to find meaning. Charles Mason manipulated these impulses to create a violent, sex driven cult, leading to the infamous murder of Sharon Tate in her eighth month of pregnancy. Tarantino acknowledges that these cultural changes killed off his beloved golden age of cinema and much of what made America a moral superpower on the world stage. Yet, he is not capable of admitting how this “innocent time” was itself tainted. Polanski and Tate visit the Playboy mansion, which seems fun and cheeky, but was a hotbed for infidelity and sexual assault. Rick himself is an obvious alcoholic, but Cliff makes no attempt to help his addiction.

The last scene is the most controversial, but given Tarantino’s love for revisionist history, it should not be too surprising. Until the end, Hollywood was almost a PG-13 movie. Sure, there was lots of swearing and smoking, but no sex or violence whatsoever. The film ends on the night of Sharon Tate’s murder, but this time the Mason clan shows up at Rick’s house. In the next ten minutes, Rick and Cliff will kill the amateur murderers in the most tortuous, horrific ways possible including, but not limited to, repeated head slamming, knife stabbing, castration, drowning, and being burned alive with a WWII flame thrower. The violence is hyperbolic and cartoonish, obviously meant to be cathartic. Yet simply the imagery itself is enough to be morally debase. Yes, they are villains to punished, but they are still people – brain washed cult members barely out of their teens.

Until this radical 180 turn, the film was immensely enjoyable. DeCaprio and Pitt have never been better, and their onscreen friendship is genuinely heartwarming. Tarantino’s attempt to save Hollywood from one of its worst chapters is understandable but not at the expense of such extreme assaults on decency. As a piece of entertainment, Hollywood succeeds wildly, but there isn’t really any lesson to be learned.

This article first appeared in Catholic World Report on August 5th, 2019.